DURING the religious revival of 1857–8, a circle of ministers were discussing the peculiar features of that awakening. One of these ministers, a distinguished professor in a theological seminary, had just come from a large meeting in one of the churches. He gave his views respecting the phase of Christian experience which he had observed there, and concluded his remarks with these words: “If I am not mistaken, the pastors of the churches will soon have to dig down and put spiles under a good deal of this religion.” However we may explain it, that remarkable awakening was characterized more by breadth than depth. It was wonderful to see such multitudes drawn together in religious meetings held on week-days and at all hours. It was amazing how well-nigh universal was the attention to religion. Great numbers became members of the church. All denominations received a large accession of numerical strength. But it was no less observable that the average type of experience lacked some of the characteristics which are generally looked for. There was less than usual of deep and pungent conviction of sin—less of that profound solemnity which was seen in the revivals of 1831—less despondency, fewer groans and tears. All was jubilant, and it seemed as if we had come upon a new dispensation of grace which almost left the cross out of discipleship. The last few years of our church life have borne the same marks. It may be idle to attempt explanation. The pulpit has remitted its terrors very considerably. Persuasion has largely supplanted the earlier form of preaching to alarm the conscience. The typical text has been, “Whosoever will, let him come.” “Flee from the wrath to come,” has been little used. Heaven has been portrayed in every form of fascination. Few ministers have thought it best to speak much of hell. The technical difficulties of religious experience have been reduced to their minimum. Subjective religion has given place to the objective. Experience has been pretty much dispensed with, while the convert has been satisfied to begin some active service of doing good. Meanwhile the regimen of Christian life has been made easier from year to year. The old ideas of consistency have been much relinquished. The line of separation between the church and the world has been erased. It would be difficult to say now-a-days what, if any, pleasures the Christian is bound to relinquish for the sake of Christ. Things for which people were put under discipline some years ago are now practised by members of the best standing in our best churches. We have certainly drifted very far away from the religious ideas and experiences which prevailed in the days of Payson, and Nettleton, and Spencer. The offense of the cross has ceased. Gratification is largely the inspiration of our present work, in pulpit and in pew. Nothing is so much deprecated as a somber and too serious putting of religion to the young. How to please, how to win, how to leave out the cross, is more and more the study in many, perhaps in most, quarters. Now it is idle to attempt the analysis of invisible forces which elude our scrutiny. It was unwise to set ourselves against the inevitable. By all means we should avoid the spirit of moroseness and narrow devotion to the past. We should purge ourselves of bigotry. We must keep abreast with the age, and mingle our service and sympathy with the throbbing present. But there is no reason that we should delude ourselves as to the type of our current Christianity. We have gained immensely in breadth, but we have correspondingly lost in depth. The young Christian of to-day, wearying himself in every kind of worldly pleasure, is certainly in unfavorable contrast to the cross-bearing and scrupulous convert of former days. We are losing Abraham’s faith and sacrifice and power of intercession, and are taking on Lot’s dubious type of godliness in the plains of Sodom. Something is wrong. We are not sure that we can say what it is. The foundations of Christian experience and example are certainly settling. The walls of our modern Zion show many ominous cracks. We have reason to fear that the bottom courses do not stand as they ought. Will some one tell us what will become of our building if repairs are neglected? or how we can get spiles under our settling walls? How can we make our religious structure equal to the weight it must carry before we reach the top stone?—Presbyterian.